‘Like what?’

‘Money? Material support? Anything to help get him on his way?’

This time, Tony tells me not to answer, but I choose to ignore him.

‘On his way?’ I enquire coldly. ‘Do you really think that man wasn’t lost enough already?’

This first interview ends within minutes. A uniformed officer appears at the door and escorts me to a holding cell while Tony disappears for another meeting. A thick steel door opens to a bigger space than I’d expected. I’m guessing the cell has recently been refurbed because I can smell just a hint of fresh paint. A Perspex domed window in the ceiling admits floods of sunshine, and the walls have been painted a cheerful shade of yellow. I count two cameras recessed into the ceiling, and there’s another in the toilet. This room, from personal experience, wouldn’t disgrace any number of budget hotels, and I settle on the easy-clean blue mattress to await developments. There’s even a couple of Harry Potter novels, much thumbed, on the shelf over the sleeping plinth.

I’m still wondering about the people who might have spent time in this cell before me when the officer returns. He takes me back to the tiny, airless room where Tony and I first met. Now, he’s sitting behind the desk.

‘Well?’ I ask.

He nods at the other chair. I sit down.

‘This is what they call a TACT suite. Has anyone mentioned that?’

‘TACT?’

‘It’s plod-speak for the Terrorism Act. Anyone nicked on suss terror charges in the Met area comes here. You’re in esteemed company, believe me.’

‘They think I’m a terrorist?’ I’m astonished.

‘They think you might be tainted.’

‘Tainted?’

‘By association. It means you’ve been keeping bad company. To be honest, I sense they don’t really have very much. This is going to be a fishing expedition. All they know is what they don’t know. My guess is they’ve found something on one of your devices. That’s where they’ll start.’

‘But there’s nothing to find.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I am. Listen to me, Tony. Watch my lips. I’m not a terrorist. I’ve never even auditioned for the fucking part. Blowing stuff up? Hacking people apart? Running amok? I wouldn’t know where to start.’

‘Don’t pull a face, my darling. This is more serious than you might think. Just the mention of terrorism, just a whiff, opens doors you wouldn’t believe. No government can keep their fingers off this scab, least of all the bloody Tories.’

I shake my head. This is absurd. Then I think of Rosa. Put the word ‘terrorist’ on my CV, and she’d be hitting the phones within seconds. My little Enora, she’d say. Certified freedom fighter. I’d have the pick of any number of star roles.

‘So, what do I do? When they start asking questions?’